California Notebooks, September 2013



where I’m writing from

is 4.30 in the afternoon


106F in the shade I inhale hot air

breathing now with relief


I felt worse in latter days

I do not feel the cramps of distance


listening with the greatest care to the smallest finch

right after letting out a clear thanksgiving


me by myself from inside myself

stretched out happy I fly


butterflies here are saffron

many and always new


today I can hear the wind

moving among the palms


the highest daylight stars


where not even the mountain reaches

old wrinkled giant laying down

tired under the hard wearing sun

looking as if crumbling


sunset highlighting the folds

sweating pure spirit nothing else


awe inspiring while putting thing in their right place

I do not wish to be somewhere else




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